


The Six Senses

by The Last Speecher (HeidiMelone)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Gen, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiMelone/pseuds/The%20Last%20Speecher
Summary: A shady company turns its eye towards the rare humans born with psychic abilities, and kidnaps them as infants on the day they are born.  Only three people have ever escaped.  On August 31, 1999, two newborns are taken from Piedmont, California.  Two men, determined to bring the newborns home, find themselves back at the company that stole their childhood.  Their names: Stanley and Stanford.





	1. Shake the Blinds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The evening wind will_ **_shake the blinds_**  
>  _You're stirring from your slumber_  
>  _We've got something hateful on our minds_  
>  \- The Mountain Goats, “Alpha Rats Nest”

**1999**

The phone rang. Stan let out a loud groan. He blindly slammed his hand down in the general direction the noise was coming from. His fingers finally grabbed the phone, and he put the receiver near his ear.

“Uh-huh?” His voice was thick from sleep. 

_It’s a miracle I was even able to get out those two syllables._

“Stanley, sorry to wake you.” Stan frowned. He recognized that voice.

“Stanford? Surprised you’re actually using a phone,” Stan said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Instead of getting ahold of me through the usual way.”

“Yes well, the usual way has its downsides. One of them being that I can’t let others talk to you. And there is someone here that you need to speak to.”

“Uh-huh? And who’s that?”

“Our older brother.” Stan’s heart suddenly began to race.

“Wait, older brother? You- you actually managed to track down our family?” Stan asked, startled out of sleepiness. Ford chuckled softly.

“It certainly took me long enough. By the way, found out our last name, too.”

“What is it?”

“Pines,” Ford said, in a tone that suggested he was still getting used to the concept of having a last name. Stan mouthed the name himself, hoping for yet at the same time dreading a connection to this, one of the few remnants of the life he could have led. “Regardless, Mr. Pines-” Stan snorted.

“Can’t really take you seriously there Sixer.”

“Mm, it doesn’t feel familiar, does it?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Well, regardless, Stan, our older brother wanted to talk to you. Here he is.” There was a shuffling over the line. Stan swung his feet over the side of the bed, putting himself into a bit more formal position. Something that suited meeting a long-lost brother better.

_Not wearing pants, though._

“Stanley?” a voice said. Stan’s heart, which had slowed down somewhat, began to pick up in pace again.

“Yeah, it’s- it’s me.”

“Holy Moses, I- Mom and Pops, they told me that you and Stanford were lost. Stillbirths. Never thought I’d hear your voice.”

“I’m in a similar boat here.”

“Yeah, I suppose you are. Anyways, my, uh, my name is Sherman. But please, call me Shermie.”

“Shermie. You got it.” 

_I have an older brother named Sherman Pines._

“And this- this is all going to sound awful but, uh, Stanford got a hold of me at a pretty pivotal moment.” Shermie let out a dry laugh. “I mean, the first time I meet you guys, and it’s to ask you a favor.”

“Uh, I dunno what sorta favor I could do for you. Not exactly rolling high here,” Stan said, eyeing his too-small apartment. 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with money. It has to do with, well, the way you grew up. Both you and Stanford.”

“Whattaya mean?”

“The company,” Shermie said quietly. Stan’s blood ran cold. “You and Stanford, you know them better than anyone. Hell, you’re the only people that ever managed to get away from them. I need your help to find them.”

“You don’t wanna find the company,” Stan said in a low tone. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Even mentioning the company made him feel like there were eyes on him.

“No, I do. I have to.”

“Why?”

“They took my grandkids.”

“Your…what?”

“My grandkids. Mabel and Mason. Twins. They were born a couple days ago. And now they’re gone. Caleb – my son – he says he saw a suspicious van leave the hospital, around the same time his kids disappeared. I talked to Stanford, and he says that the description of the van matches what the company uses. I need to find the company. I can’t let Caleb lose his kids.” Stan rubbed his face.

“I- I get that.”

_I have a niece and nephew? Well, I’ve at least got a nephew, as well as whatever you call your brother’s grandkids._

“But the company, it-” Stan started. He broke off upon feeling a familiar nudge in the back of his mind. “…Stanford agreed already, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He said he wanted to take down the company anyways. This way, he could kill two birds with one stone. And he says he needs your help.”

“No shit he needs my help.” Stan groaned. “Okay, fine. I’m not gonna promise anything, but I’ll at least come to talk to you guys in person.”

“Thank you, Stanley. Thank you so much.”

“Yeah.”

“It- it was really nice to meet you, even if it was just over the phone,” Shermie said. Stan smiled despite himself.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you too, Shermie.” There was more rustling over the line as Shermie handed it back to Ford.

“Thank you for agreeing, Stan,” Ford said quietly.

“Nuh-uh. All I’ve agreed to is to meet you guys. We can talk whether I’m actually gonna do anything after. But, uh, Ford, we won’t be able to take on the company on our own. We’ll need the kid, too.”

“I already spoke to her. The usual way.”

“And what’d she say?”

“That there’s no way in hell she’d ever go back to the company.”

“Can’t really blame her,” Stan said quietly. “She found everything she was missing, right off the bat. I wouldn’t be willing to give it up either.”

“Hmm, well, you knew her better, that’s for sure. I thought she’d jump at the opportunity to take down the people who took everything from her.”

“Well, yeah. Just not in person. You know how she is. She won’t do shit that could draw attention.” Stan leaned back. “I could get a hold of the geek, though, if you think he could help. I mean, he’s not the kid, but he still led the prison break.” He rubbed his forehead. “And he and the kid are pretty close now, right? Maybe he can talk her into helping out.”

“Maybe. If you want, Stan, _I_ could talk to him.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Sixer. But don’t do it the usual way. That freaks him out.”

“Yes…I recall.” There was a pause. “I’ll let you know if I have any updates.”

“The usual way?”

“Yes. The usual way.” Ford hung up the phone. Stan rubbed his eyes.

_Let’s see if I can talk any sense into the kid._ He dialed a number. The phone rang two times before it was picked up.

“‘S Wendy, who is this?” a high-pitched voice said. Stan felt a grin creep across his face despite his tiredness. 

“Wendy, it’s me. Uncle Stan.”

“Uncle Stan!”

“Yep. Is your mom around?”

“No. Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Yes. But Daddy says she needs sleep,” Wendy said. Stan sighed.

“Is the baby being mean to her again?”

“Yeah.”

_The issues she’s been having with her pregnancies…did they mess with stuff other than her head?_ Stan felt that familiar nudge again. _No. I don’t wanna know._ The nudging grew stronger. _Fuck off!_ The nudging gradually faded away. _Damn clairvoyance._

“Uncle Stan?” Wendy said hesitantly. Stan suddenly realized he had been quiet for a while.

“Just tell your mom I called, okay? I wanna talk to her. It’s about- tell her Ford found our older brother, and he needs help.”

“Mama can’t help. Not supposed to walk.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Doctor says the baby is safe. But Mama has to be really careful,” Wendy said solemnly. Stan punched the bridge of his nose.

_So even if she_ was _willing to help out, she couldn’t._

“Okay. Just tell your mom I called then. And I said good luck, or congratulations, or whatever. You can pick.”

“Okay!”

_She sounded way too happy about that. God, she’s going to tell her I said something weird, isn’t she?_

“You take care, kiddo. Have your mom call me back when she gets a chance.”

“‘Kay. Bye, Uncle Stan!”

“Bye, Wendy.” Stan hung up the phone.

_The kid’s a no-go. But the geek… He was always pissed about what they did to the kid._ Stan chewed his lip thoughtfully. _He might be down. He’s got more anger in him than you’d think._ Stan rolled back onto his bed and buried his head in the pillow. _Whatever. Ford’s gonna handle that. Just get some more sleep before-_ The alarm clock on his bedside table began to screech. _Dammit._

 

Stan nursed his beer, watching children play in a park across the street. It had been about half an hour since he’d arrived and sat down at the outdoor table like planned. He was supposed to be meeting Ford and Shermie at this restaurant in Piedmont. But so far, he hadn’t seen either of them.

_I mean, maybe I saw Shermie and just didn’t recognize him. Never met the guy, so I don’t know what he looks like._ A small girl in the park let out a screech as she tackled another child. Stan felt a smile play at his lips. _Cute kids._ He let out a sigh. _Don’t go down that path, Stan. It’s for the best you didn’t have any. You’re too fucked up to take care of ‘em right._ Stan was thankfully brought out of his negative thoughts by a shout.

“Stanley!” Stan looked over. He grinned. 

“About time you lazy bums showed up,” Stan said airily. Ford and Shermie finished approaching the table. Stan looked Shermie over. “Since you look just like me and Ford, I’m guessing you’re Shermie?”

“The one and only,” Shermie said jovially. Stan raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You seem kinda…what’s the opposite of intense?”

“Stanley, don’t be rude,” Ford chided. Shermie chuckled.

“It’s fine, Stanford. I know I can be rather mild-mannered. Although I imagine I seem even more so, compared to the two of you,” Shermie said. 

“I mean, yeah. You’ve never staged a breakout in your life, have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” Shermie confirmed. He swallowed nervously. “But I want to.” Stan nodded.

“Take a seat, then.” Ford and Shermie sat at the table. 

“I have to ask,” Shermie blurted out. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Shermie, it’s true. I can see the future. And I know stuff I can’t possibly know.” Stan huffed. “It’s more annoying than anything.”

“You try being a telepath, surrounded by people 24/7,” Ford retorted. “You’re never alone when you catch glimpses of everyone’s thoughts.”

“Sorry, I just- I know you’re my brothers and all, but, I-”

“We’re legit, Shermie,” Stan interrupted. Shermie opened his mouth. “Proving it will have to wait. Business first. Gimme the rundown of the situation.”

“My grandkids were kidnapped by the company,” Shermie explained. “I need to get them back. But I’ll need your help to do so.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, glancing back at the children playing in the park again.

“…To what?”

“Yeah, you need to get them back.” A sour expression twisted Stan’s face. “The company can’t be trusted with ‘em.”

“What did the company do to you?” Shermie asked quietly. Ford looked away. Stan took a sudden interest in his drink. “Was- was that rude to ask?”

“I don’t think you really wanna know what the company does to the kids it takes,” Stan said in a low voice. Shermie sat up a bit straighter.

“I _do_ want to know. I _need_ to know.”

“Fine. But you asked.” Stan rubbed a thumb along the label on his beer bottle, trying push back that familiar nudge at the back of his mind. “They weren’t so harsh on me, when they figured out my whole deal. Ford got it rougher. But since he was quiet anyways, didn’t do much other than the telepathic equivalent of passing notes in class, they weren’t as bad as they could have been. Not as bad as they were to the kid.”

“The kid?”

“This girl. They brought her in as a baby, like they always do, when we were about, oh, six or seven?” Ford said. “I was able to communicate with her some before meeting her face-to-face. I knew she started out as a regular, hyper little girl. Stubborn and excited and happy. But then, when she was four, it started. Any time she had a temper tantrum, the lights would flicker. When she cried, things would hit the walls. Her room was next to ours, so we could hear it. They took her away from her room, and hid her behind power dampeners. I couldn’t communicate with her anymore.”

“She was six the first time we actually saw her,” Stan said quietly. “They took us to the playroom. We were basically teens at that point, and didn’t want to spend time in the room with the building blocks and coloring books. But they made us go. And she was in there. Sitting in a corner, holding onto this stuffed animal rabbit like it was the only thing in the world keeping her safe. We were told to talk to her, to socialize. That it would be good for all of us.”

“She didn’t look us in the eye for weeks,” Ford said. “Didn’t say a word for months. It was the same girl that used to live next to us, but she sure didn’t seem like it.”

“Never showed a lick of emotion aside from being scared until the day her family tracked her down and rescued all three of us,” Stan said. “I don’t know what they did to her. I don’t want to know what they did, to break a little girl’s spirit like that.”

“She’s free then, like you?” Shermie asked.

“Yeah. More well-adjusted than either of us, if you’d believe it. Got an education, found herself a family, settled down in some town in Oregon. Lotsa therapy went into fixing things for her. But she’s still not who she should be. Don’t know if she’ll ever be.”

“I take it you’ve been staying in touch,” Shermie said. Stan nodded.

“The kid’s basically our little sister. I care about her. Drove up to visit her a few times even. She’s got a good life now. A husband, a daughter, and a son on the way.”

“They found out the sex?” Ford asked.

“Yup.”

“I’ll bet Dan’s excited it’s a boy.”

“Yeah, he is,” Stan confirmed. He picked at the label on his bottle again. “But the doc put her on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy. This one’s been rough on her, just like the first one.”

“Do you think the company-” Ford started. 

“Don’t go there,” Stan said quietly. “I don’t wanna know, and if you ask, I will.”

“You can’t control it?” Shermie asked. 

“Sometimes. Most of the time, if it’s something I don’t wanna know, I can push it back. Visions…I don’t get ‘em very often, and when I do, I can’t even move. I just see whatever I’m gonna see.” Stan smiled faintly. “The last vision was nice.”

“What’d you see?” Shermie asked, leaning forward.

“It was before the kid’s daughter, Wendy, was born. She called me all excited to tell me she was pregnant, and she wanted her baby to call me Uncle Stan.”

“That’s sweet,” Shermie said.

“Yeah. When she told me, I got a vision, of her in a hospital bed, holding her baby, and introducing the baby to me. She said ‘Wendy, this is your Uncle Stan.’ Everything felt right during that vision.” Stan’s expression soured. “Most of the visions aren’t good, though. And even if I try to push back knowing something, I can’t do it forever. The more it comes up, the more difficult it is to ignore. Or, like when we escaped, if I haven’t used my powers in a while, it all shows up at once.”

“How did you escape?” Shermie asked. Stan looked at Ford.

“The kid,” Ford said. “Her family came. Apparently her twin brother found out he had a twin sister who disappeared from the hospital when they were born. Her twin and her older siblings did research and hacked records, trying to find her. Her older brother, Stan calls him ‘the geek’, finally tracked her down. They got in the family truck and drove over. They came back home the next morning with their baby sister and the two of us.”

“…Some teenagers broke you three out?” Shermie said, confused. Stan shook his head.

“The kid’s got five older siblings. All of them were adults except for her twin. They’re scary smart, and stronger than they look, from farm work.”

“…Wow.”

“The kid had an army to break her out. If we do this, we won’t.”

“Fiddleford agreed to help,” Ford put in. 

“Who’s Fiddleford?” Shermie asked.

“The geek,” Stan said. “Did he finish that techno-whatever he was working on?”

“Yes,” Ford said with a nod. “He feels confident that he can help us rescue Mabel and Mason.” Ford looked at Stan with a careful expression. “What do you think about that?” Stan closed his eyes, waiting for the information to wash over him.

“We _probably_ won’t die gruesome deaths,” Stan said after a moment. “I’d put the odds at 3-5%?”

“What are the odds of success?” Ford asked. 

“25%.”

“The kid said she has the schematics of the building, and Dan can get us there and keep the car running,” Ford added. Stan nodded.

“75%.”

“With this, whatever you’re doing, are you having me be part of the crew that breaks in?” Shermie asked.

“Yeah,” Stan said.

“Remove me from the equation.”

“Are you sure?” Ford asked. 

“Yes. I’m a middle school English teacher. I don’t have any sort of powers. I know I’ll just slow you down.”

“92% chance of success,” Stan said.

“That’s above your minimum of 80%,” Ford pointed out. Stan glanced at Ford.

“I knew telling you about the minimum was a bad idea.”

“So, you’re in?” Shermie asked. Stan let out a sigh and downed the rest of his beer.

“I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't be starting a new fic, when I've got another one going. But I got hit with a sudden burst of inspiration the other day, and I wanted to give you guys something while I slowly worked on "Stan-at-Home". This AU's been in the works for a while, and actually is still in the works, but I feel confident enough about it to give you the first chapter.  
> Let me know what you think!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	2. Rising Black Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from her_  
>  _Someday burns down_  
>  _And I hope the **rising black smoke** carries me far away_  
>  _And I never come back to this town again_  
>  \- The Mountain Goats, “No Children”

**1972**

Cog wakes up with a gasp. Information floods into his mind. As the rush slows to a trickle, he sits up in bed. He _knows_.

“The dampeners went down,” Path whispers. “Can you tell why?” Cog shakes his head. 

“Gonna take me a while to sort through all this intel,” Cog replies, still feeling shell-shocked by the unexpected influx of knowledge. The door suddenly falls off its hinges, landing on the floor with a deafening crash. Standing in the doorway is the kid, with fire in her eyes and in front of a small army.

“What’s going on?” Path asks. Cog feels that push in his mind and lets the answer flow over him. The kid responds, but he already knows.

“We’re leaving.”

“Wha- really?” Path asks. The kid nods. 

“They lied to us. We _do_ have families.” She smiles back at the crowd behind her. “Mine found me.” 

“I see the resemblance,” Path says. His tone is carefully aloof, but Cog can sense him humming with excitement at the news. Cog can’t blame him. 

_We have families? This- this changes everything._ One of the kid’s siblings, a young woman with long, bright red hair, looks over her shoulder nervously.

“All right, now we’ve found ‘em, can we get goin’?”

“She wouldn’t leave without the two of ya,” one of the kid’s brothers, short with dark hair, says. 

“Your accents…are you from the south?” Path asks. The boy nods, but Cog is more interested in his age than his voice.

“You’re her twin,” Cog says. The boy beams.

“Yessir.” He grins at the kid. “I got a twin sister now.” Another brother, with reading glasses and sandy blond hair, clears his throat. 

“We really should get goin’. It ain’t smart to stay fer too long.”

“Right,” Cog says, vaulting out of bed. 

“Do y’all have any belongings?” the blond brother asks. 

“Some,” Path says.

“Only take stuff ya can run with,” the kid’s twin says. Cog and Path begin to grab a few things; books, photos, some cash Cog pocketed from scientists and guards over the years. Cog snatches a pair of socks, but is stopped by the blond brother.

“We’ve got clothes at home fer y’all.” Cog nods. He glances at the kid. Her blue eyes are lit up in a way he’s never seen before. A pink blush stains her cheeks, and instead of trying to take up as little space as possible, her energy fills the room. For the first time, she looks alive. A pang of discomfort hits him.

_This shouldn’t be the first time._

“Got everything?” the blond brother asks. Cog looks at him. He lets himself know.

“Yeah, Fiddleford.” Fiddleford blinks and takes a step back, clearly unnerved. The kid frowns at Cog. 

“Let’s go,” the redheaded woman hisses. Cog lets the knowledge trickle in.

_She’s the oldest, and the kid’s only sister. The two keeping watch in the hall, they’re both older than Fiddleford, the kid, and the kid’s twin._

_Got it,_ Path whispers in his mind. They all file out into the hall. The kid looks at her older siblings.

“What next?” she asks.

“We came in this way,” one of the kid’s older brothers, who is wearing a T-shirt with “Star Trek” on it, says. He gestures towards a hallway to the left. Cog looks in that direction and feels a wave of nausea wash over him. 

“Don’t go that way,” Cog blurts out. “It won’t end well.” 

“Is there another way out?” Path asks. Fiddleford and the Star Trek brother exchange a look. 

“Yes, but this is faster ‘n easier,” Fiddleford says. 

“That’s why we came in that way,” the Star Trek brother adds. The kid gazes down the hallway, a thoughtful look in her eyes. 

“How many?” she asks. Cog shrugs.

“Still sorting through everything, kid. Might take me a while to get back to you.” Cog looks at Path. “Can you tell?”

“Thirty-one armed guards,” Path says. A cruel smile twists the kid’s face. 

“Thirty-one?” she scoffs. “That’s child’s play.”

 

_Wake up._

Cog jerks awake. Path looks at him apologetically.

“Sorry. I had to wake you up somehow,” Path says. Cog rubs his eyes. 

“Why?”

“We’re here.”

“Where _is_ here, exactly?”

“The McGucket farm,” Fiddleford answers. He smiles weakly. “Home sweet home.” Cog hears small snoring. He frowns at Path.

“You woke me up, but not the kid?” Cog asks grumpily. 

“She’s a child. She needs her sleep,” Path says.

“She passed out the minute we got outta the parking lot,” Cog says, unbuckling his seatbelt. 

“Yeah, but she used a lot of energy with…that stuff she did,” the Star Trek brother puts in. Fiddleford glances at him. 

“Harper, she’s yer baby sister. Stop soundin’ so scared of her.”

_Harper!_ Cog leans back against the seat. _I never got around to figuring out the rest of the names._ His eyelids droop. _Don’t really feel up to doing that right now._

_Just get out of the car,_ Path snips at him. Cog rolls his eyes but does as he’s told.

“Can ya blame me fer bein’ a bit nervous?” Harper asks. The tallest brother, bearded and with an intimidating demeanor, takes the kid out of the truck. “She- when they fired those bullets, they- they slid away from her. Sure, she’s our baby sister. But she walked through a battlefield and didn’t get a scratch! And don’t even start me ‘bout how she locked every single door after we left, without usin’ a key. Or how she just looked at the guards’ guns and got ‘em to explode.” 

“We knew there was a reason she was taken,” the bearded brother, who Cog decides to dub “Beardy”, rumbles. “We didn’t expect this to be the reason, but now we learn ‘n adapt. She’s our baby sister, and she’s been through a lot. She needs love and support.”

“Right. Sorry,” Harper mumbles, looking intently at his feet. The kid makes a small noise and shifts in Beardy’s arms.

“There’s no better place fer her to get that love and support than with her fam’ly,” the sister says softly, stroking the kid’s hair. Cog and Path exchange an apprehensive look.

“What’s wrong?” Fiddleford asks. Cog rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean, yeah, the kid, she- she’s your sister. Biologically. But, I dunno, we, uh, well, she’s known us for, like, years,” Cog stammers. He shrugs. “We- uh-”

“She’s like a sister to us,” Path finishes for him. “We only really had each other in there.”

“If she’s yer sister, then that makes the two of ya brothers to rest of us,” Harper says. Cog blinks. 

“…What?”

“We should prob’ly run it by Ma ‘n Pa first, but-”

“Where have you been?!” a voice shrieks from the house. Everyone spins around. Standing on the porch is a middle-aged couple, clearly furious. 

_The kid looks_ just _like her mom, holy hell._

“It’s five in the mornin’, and y’all are gettin’ in just now?” the husband demands. 

“Pa, we were on a rescue mission!” the kid’s twin pipes up. 

“Ya took yer lil brother?” the wife asks. “He ain’t even a teenager yet, and yer takin’ him out ‘til the sun rises!”

“Ma, we had a good reason!” Fiddleford insists. He nudges Beardy. “Show ‘em.” Beardy slowly walks towards the farmhouse. When he gets to the porch, the wife collapses against her husband. Cog looks around the farm’s property while Beardy explains things to his parents. There’s an orchard that stretches out behind the farmhouse, and a barn and pasture off to the side. 

_So, your average farm,_ Path puts in.

_How would you know what an average farm is? We’ve never been to one before._ Cog’s eyes widen as he looks at the barn. _Whoa. They’ve got all sortsa animals in there._

_It’s a farm. What did you expect?_

“Ma ‘n Pa cleared it,” Beardy says, joining the small crowd of people on the lawn. “They want more details, but say it can wait ‘til we’ve gotten some rest.”

“Good,” Fiddleford says, “We’ll have to find a place fer the three of ya to sleep.”

“We’ll take the guest room,” Cog says. 

“All three of ya?” Harper asks. 

“Yeah. The kid can take the bed, my brother and I ‘ll sleep on the floor,” Cog says firmly. The kid’s older siblings exchange uncertain looks, but when the sister nods, the others follow suit.

“Come on in, then. We’ll get y’all settled in,” Harper says.

 

Cog wakes with a snort. 

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up,” a voice says softly. Cog looks over. Path is sitting up, staring out the window of the guest room. A blanket is draped around his shoulders.

“I’m tired. Sue me,” Cog retorts, sitting up. He yawns and stretches. “Ugh. I don’t think I want to sleep on the floor again if I can help it.”

“It’s our own fault. We wouldn’t leave the kid alone.”

“I know that,” Cog says snippily. He looks at the only bed. The kid is snoring softly, the blankets wrapped snugly around her. Cog smiles faintly. The kid’s light hair is one big tangled mess, and she’s got that stuffed animal rabbit ( _named Lucky,_ his mind supplies) clenched tightly in one hand. But her face is relaxed, and the afternoon sun’s rays are cast across her gently. “Man, she is _out_ , huh.”

“Yeah. As are the rest of her siblings.”

“Her parents are in town,” Cog supplies, without being asked. Path nods silently. 

“So…do you want to check out the barn?”

“Duh!” Cog throws the blankets off him and stands up eagerly. Path glances at the kid. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

 

Cog and Path stand by the pasture fence, staring at the herd of cows.

“Those horses were scarier than I thought they’d be,” Cog remarks. Path rolls his eyes. “What? They were!”

“Like you get surprised by anything,” Path says. Cog scoffs. 

“I thought you two ‘d be out here,” a voice says idly. 

“Hey, Fiddleford,” Cog calls without looking. Fiddleford joins the two of them at the fence. 

“How’d ya know my name?” Fiddleford asks.

“I know things. That’s what I do,” Cog says with a shrug. “Like how the kid can throw shit with her mind.”

“The kid?”

“Your sister. That’s what we call her. Those scientists, they called her Kin, but we misheard the first time, and it sorta stuck.”

“Wh- but her name ain’t Kin,” Fiddleford protests.

“Duh. And my name’s not Cog, and my brother’s name isn’t Path. But it’s what they gave us.”

“…Pardon?”

“They gave us codes,” Path says quietly. “Based on our…abilities.”

“These abilities bein’ why they took y’all,” Fiddleford says. Cog and Path nod. “Geez.”

“Path is short for telepath,” Cog explains. “Cog is short for precognitive. That was before they figured out I was actually a clairvoyant, but, eh, they didn’t bother changing it when they did find out.” Fiddleford is silent. “We scared you, didn’t we.”

“I mean, to an extent, this is all very unnervin’,” Fiddleford says carefully. “We weren’t expectin’ any of this. We- we thought our baby sister got taken fer…well, we didn’t have any thoughts ‘bout the reason. But bein’ taken ‘cause she’s got telekinesis and they wanted to experiment on her, that didn’t even cross our minds.”

“You didn’t have any reason to suspect that,” Path says. Fiddleford nods.

“Look, I- I can’t call ya Path ‘n Cog. Those ain’t names.”

“Those are all we have,” Cog says firmly. Fiddleford shakes his head.

“No, they aren’t. When I was trackin’ down where they were keepin’ my baby sister, I found yer files.”

“You- you did?” Cog asks. 

“Yep. They were programed to self-destruct, though. I was only able to see a bit of the information, before it got wiped away.” Fiddleford frowns and looks at Cog. “But if yer clairvoyant, how come ya don’t know who ya really are?”

“I don’t know things about me,” Cog says. “That’s my blind spot. Believe me, I’ve tried to figure this stuff out before.”

“But yer brother-”

“We’re twins, so it blocks stuff about him, too,” Cog interrupts. 

“Oh.”

“What did you find out about us?” Path asks.

“Not much. Yer first names, yer birth month.” Fiddleford nods at Path. “Yer name’s Stanford.” He looks at Cog. “And yer name is Stanley.”

“Who the hell named us?” Cog, no, Stanley, mumbles. He sighs. “And, I guess it’s nice to know our first names, but what are we gonna do with it? We don’t have last names, we can’t get identification. We don’t have high school diplomas, we-”

“My folks ‘re workin’ on all that right now,” Fiddleford says. “My ma’s a lawyer, so that helps. They actually sent me out here to talk to ya ‘bout the last name thing. They say ya can use our last name if ya want.”

“McGucket?” Stanley snorts. “Uh, no.”

“Ya don’t have to be rude ‘bout it,” Fiddleford mutters. 

“We don’t have many options,” Stanford says to Stanley. 

“I’m not budging on it.”

“The other one my ma suggested,” Fiddleford says, “was Doe.”

“Doe?” Stanford asks.

“When a person is found what can’t be identified, they get assigned the last name Doe.”  
“Morbidly fitting,” Stanley remarks. He grins. “I like it.”

“You would,” Stanford says, rolling his eyes. Stanley sticks his tongue out at his twin, getting a playful nudge in return.

“Hey, hang on,” Stanley says slowly. “You said your ma was working on…what, exactly?”

“Well, identification, records, enrollin’ ya in school,” Fiddleford says, ticking off each task on one of his slender fingers. “That’s fer startin’. Then once all that’s done, she’s plannin’ on callin’ the fam’ly doctor.”

“Whoa, no need to bring doctors in!” Stanley says immediately. Fiddleford frowns. “We, uh, Stanford and I, we’re- we’re fine and- and- just, no doctors.”

“We’re up to date on all our vaccinations, and in prime health,” Stanford adds. 

“I’m sure ya are. But Ma ‘n Pa both agreed that someone needs to check the two of ya over. My lil sister’s goin’ to get a checkup, too.”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for _that_ appointment,” Stanley mutters. Fiddleford puts his hands on his hips.

“This is serious! Who knows what those researchers could’ve done, to hurt ya or- or track ya or somethin’?”

“ _We_ know,” Stanley snaps. “We’ve been to a doctor before, and we’re not really fond of it, got it? No damn doctors.”

_What the hell is wrong with him?_

_I agree. There’s no need to take us to a doctor,_ Stanford whispers.

“Fiddleford, what’s goin’ on here?” a voice calls. The three young men turn. Fiddleford’s father is walking towards them. “Ya were supposed to get information on names from ‘em, then report back.”

“Sorry, Pa, we got to talkin’,” Fiddleford says. Mr. McGucket joins the twins and his son. “They decided they want to use the last name Doe.”

“Figures. Even yer lil sister weren’t too pleased ‘bout findin’ out her real name.”

“If it’s anything like ‘Fiddleford’, I’m not surprised,” Stanley says breezily. Mr. McGucket frowns at him. “…Sir,” Stanley adds as an afterthought. 

“But they’re also not wantin’ to see a doctor,” Fiddleford informs Mr. McGucket. 

“Of course they wouldn’t!” Mr. McGucket says. “Fiddleford, what you picture when ya think of a doctor, and what these poor children picture are goin’ to be very different!” He turns to the twins. “Look, boys, we ain’t goin’ to force ya to do anything yer not comfortable with. The doctor can wait until you’ve decompressed a bit. Just know that our fam’ly doctor, he’s seen all our kids, and none of ‘em have ever been afraid of him. Yer doctor treated ya like subjects, right?” Stanley and Stanford nod. “Our doctor treats folks like people. But, again, ya don’t need to see him ‘til yer ready.”

“Thank you, sir,” Stanford says. 

“Ain’t no problem, son.”

“Do we really have to go to school?” Stanley whines. Mr. McGucket raises an eyebrow.

“I see my son spilled just ‘bout all the plans to the two of ya. Yes, yer goin’ to school. Senior year of high school. It’ll be good fer yer social development. My wife ‘n I ‘ll work on gettin’ ya ready, but since ya got some education in that facility, the biggest issue ‘ll be culture shock.”

“Can’t your wife just forge high school diplomas for us?” Stanford asks.

“She could. But she won’t. Fer one thing, the more stuff she makes up, the easier it is to find a hole in what she’s sayin’.”

“Yep,” Stanley says with a nod.

“Fer another thing, it’ll be good fer ya. My daughter thinks very highly of the two of ya, and keeps goin’ on and on ‘bout how smart ya are. If ya want to go to college, which I recommend, you’ll need to experience public school a bit. Otherwise, you’ll just ‘bout drown in the learnin’ environment.”

“College?” Stanley groans. He droops onto the pasture fence. “What if I just stay here, watch the cows or whatever?”

“That’s an option, sure,” Mr. McGucket says. “But yer goin’ to get a high school education first.”

“Ugh!” Stanley groans again. Stanford chuckles, then freezes. 

“We’ve got incoming,” Stanford whispers. Stanley pulls himself up and casts out a wide net. The blood drains from his face.

“Oh, shit.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Mr. McGucket asks. 

“They found us, we- we gotta run!” Stanley shouts, already running back to the house. “The kid, we gotta get the kid!” He makes it to the porch, and the door opens before he can grab the handle. The kid, her hair in braids and dressed in soft-looking overalls ( _hand-me-down from her older sister_ ) beams up at him. 

“Cog!” she chirps happily. “Look! My big sister did my hair!”

“Uh-huh, looks real nice,” Stanley stammers. He picks her up. “We’re gonna go now, okay?”

“What? Why?” the kid whines. 

_God. She doesn’t deserve this. She’s just a kid._

“Yes, why?” Mrs. McGucket asks, joining Stanley and the kid on the porch. She freezes as she catches sight of something behind Stanley. “Oh, Lord.” Already knowing what he’ll find, Stanley slowly turns. He swallows nervously. 

“No,” the kid whimpers. She grabs fistfuls of the shirt Stanley is wearing, which he’d nabbed from a pile of clean laundry in the living room. The stone-hearted, merciless warrioress from yesterday is gone, replaced by a scared twelve-year-old girl. The kid lets out a loud, prolonged wail. “I don’t- I don’t want to go back!”

“We’re not gonna go back, don’t worry, kid,” Stanley growls. He glares at the black, unmarked vans parking on the McGuckets’ front lawn. 

_What I wouldn’t give to have the kid’s ability to blow shit up._ Someone gets out of the largest van. 

“Who is that?” Mrs. McGucket whispers to Stanley. 

“Our handler. Bud Gleeful. He was the person in charge of making sure we were following the rules, and eating right, and not escaping.”

“McGuckets, return the children!” Bud shouts. Mrs. McGucket straightens her back and marches down the porch steps.

“Mama!” the kid screams. Stanley holds her more tightly.

_Damn, she’s already calling them ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. When Stanford and I meet our parents, will we jump into that right away, too?_ Mrs. McGucket reaches Gleeful.

“Mr. Gleeful, right?” Mrs. McGucket asks, her voice clear and carrying.

“Sally!” Mr. McGucket, still near the pasture with Fiddleford and Stanford, shouts. Mrs. McGucket holds up her hand.

“I’ll handle this, darlin’. So, Mr. Gleeful, was it?”

“Yes,” Gleeful said cautiously. 

“You have no right to demand the return of these individuals.”

“They belong to us.”

“Belong to you?”

“We’re their legal guardians,” Gleeful amends. Mrs. McGucket shakes her head. “They are!”

“By no means is my daughter yer responsibility. Yer organization kidnapped her. Sure, she’s still a minor, but you have zero legal claim to her! Kidnappin’ don’t transfer guardianship, Mr. Gleeful. I should know. I’m a lawyer.” Gleeful blinks nervously. “Oh, yes. You come after my fam’ly, you mess with the law. I have no qualms ‘bout raisin’ a fuss.”

“The boys, at least,” Gleeful stammers. “They were given to us, by their parents.”

_…What?_

“They’re eighteen years of age,” Mrs. McGucket snarls. “This is information from yer own files.”

“How did you get access to those files?” Gleeful demands.

“You kidnapped my daughter and raised her and these boys as experiments, do ya really want to get into an argument over ethics with me?” Mrs. McGucket snaps. Gleeful swallows, his eyes darting from side to side. “These young men are adults. You _cannot_ drag them away. They are free to go wherever they wish.”

“They don’t have identification.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Mr. Gleeful.”

“You do realize that forgery is a crime, right?” Gleeful says. Mrs. McGucket stands on her tiptoes and stares down Gleeful.

“I’ll repeat myself. Do ya really want to get into an ethics argument, _kidnapper_? _Human rights violator_?” Mrs. McGucket rumbles. Gleeful turns white. “Leave, Mr. Gleeful. ‘Fore my husband grabs his shotgun and punishes ya fer trespassin’ on our property.” After a moment, Gleeful nods woodenly. 

In a matter of seconds, the vans flee the McGucket farmstead, rapidly vanishing down the dirt road, leaving behind only large plumes of dust in their tracks. Stanley breaks the startled silence with a joyous shout.

“Holy shit, Mrs. Guck! That was amazing!”

“Thank you, son,” Mrs. McGucket says, grinning proudly. “Though, do watch yer language ‘round my children.”

“That bridge was burned a long time ago, I’m afraid,” Stanford says. 

“Baby girl, did these young men teach ya naughty words?” Mrs. McGucket asks the kid. The kid nods eagerly. “Ah. Well, I s’pose there are worse things fer a lil lady to learn.” She walks back to the porch and takes the kid from Stanley. The kid immediately wraps her arms around her mother like an over affectionate octopus. “We’ll have to give ya the rigorous manners course, then.” The kid hums happily. 

“Seriously, Mrs. McGucket, that- you didn’t have to do that,” Stanley says quietly. Mrs. McGucket shakes her head.

“No, I did. What happened to you kids shouldn’t have ever come to pass. All’s I’m doin’ is tryin’ to rectify it a bit.”

“They’re going to come back, you know,” Stanford says, joining the small crowd on the porch, along with Fiddleford and Mr. McGucket.

“If they do, we send ‘em away again,” Mr. McGucket says firmly. He claps a hand on Stanford’s back. “Son, I promise ya. You’ll never have to deal with those nasty folk again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! Here's an update to celebrate.  
> Of course I did a flashback chapter. I had to. The next one won't be flashback, though, and we'll get the rescue train rolling.  
> Next month is NaNoWriMo, and I'm planning on updating fics each Tuesday of November, so, look forward to that.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	3. Hear Your Knuckles Crack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Brave young cowboys of the near North side_  
>  _Mount those bridge rails, ride all night_  
>  _Scream when captured, arch your back_  
>  _Let this whole town **hear your knuckles crack**_  
>  \- The Mountain Goats, “Damn These Vampires”

**1999**

_Wake up._

Stan woke up with a snort. He glared at Ford.

“Did you have to wake me up like that?” Stan asked. Ford shrugged and got out of Shermie’s decent-but-nothing-special sedan. 

“It’s the most effective way,” Ford said. Stan grumbled, but unbuckled his seatbelt and got out as well. He stretched languidly. “What were you dreaming about?” Shermie, who had been looking around the modest, average-looking cul-de-sac, turned in interest.

“Hang on, can’t you just…y’know?” Shermie said. He tapped his nose in a knowing manner. Stan and Ford stared at him.

“What the fuck are you trying to say?” Stan said after a moment. Shermie sighed.

“Read his mind?”

“I mean, I could,” Ford said, “but I won’t.”

“It’s pretty damn rude to read someone’s mind without permission,” Stan explained, closing his car door with a loud slam. “Ford uses his power responsibly.”

“Like Spider-Man,” Shermie said brightly. Stan furrowed his brow.

“What’s Spider-Man?” Stan asked. Shermie blinked in surprise.

“You- you don’t know-”

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you, Sherm,” Stan said, waving his hand. “I know he’s a superhero.”

“Yes, but did you know that before Shermie brought him up?” Ford asked. He raised an eyebrow at Stan.

“What’s it to ya?” Stan asked gruffly.

“I know full well you cheated the last time you played trivia with me. I’m just wondering if you’re up to those tricks again.”

“Hey, the rules never said I couldn’t use clairvoyance.”

“It was _implied_ ,” Ford snarled.

“Unless it’s in the rules, it’s not cheating.”

“Boys, boys, please,” Shermie said, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “Let’s keep things civil, okay?” 

“He started it,” Stan grumbled. Shermie rubbed his forehead. 

“This is like raising my children all over again,” Shermie mumbled. “Why are the two of you so agitated with each other? Did you have some sorta falling out?”

“No, we’re on pretty good terms,” Stan said. He grimaced. “It’s dealing with the Company again that’s putting us on edge.”

“That’s understandable,” Shermie said softly. “Thank you, again, for agreeing to help.”

“You’re family, Shermie. Newfound family, but family nonetheless,” Ford said. He looked at Stan. “So, what were you dreaming about?”

“The best two days of my entire goddamn life,” Stan said. He kicked a stray pebble on the driveway into the street.

“The day we escaped.”

“Yeah. And the day that Fiddlenerd’s mom basically told the whole Company to shove it.” Stan grinned. “Love that woman.”

“I know,” a voice said. The three brothers looked over at the house. Fiddleford McGucket was standing on the doorstep, watching them with some amusement. “Ya try to visit her on her birthday each year,” Fiddleford continued. Ford grinned at Stan.

“You’re such a softie.”

“What? No, I’m not.”

“You go out of your way to spend time with Mrs. McGucket on her birthday. That’s something a softie would do.”

“She’s the closest thing we’ve got to a mom, can ya blame me?” Stan said defensively.

“What about your actual mom?” Shermie asked. “She’s back in New Jersey. I could get you on the phone with her.”

“No,” Stan and Ford said together. Shermie blinked, clearly taken aback.

“Why not?”

“She gave us up to the Company, and so did our biological father,” Ford said. Shermie’s mouth dropped open.

“I- I wouldn’t put that past Pops, but Mom…?”

“Maybe we should have this conversation inside,” Fiddleford suggested. “Three strange men arguin’ in my driveway is goin’ to make the neighbors start askin’ questions I don’t want to answer.”

 

Stan looked around the entryway of Fiddleford’s home.

“Nice place,” he remarked.

“Thank you, Stanley,” Fiddleford said. “Mind takin’ off yer shoes?”

“I remember the rules,” Stan muttered, sliding his shoes off and placing them in the basket by the door. Ford and Shermie followed suit.

“Why don’t the three of ya follow me to the kitchen,” Fiddleford suggested. “I can whip up somethin’ fer y’all to eat.”

“Sounds great, Fidds,” Ford said. Fiddleford smiled brightly and set off down a wood-paneled hallway. The three brothers followed. Stan continued to examine his surroundings carefully, picking up every detail he possibly could.

_Lotsa pictures of his family. Kinda surprised that the wall doesn’t collapse._

_He’s an engineer,_ Ford pointed out. _I assume he has some understanding of structural integrity._

_Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever._ As they walked through a living room, a small, circular humming device on the floor caught Stan’s eye. 

“Uh, Fiddlenerd, why do you have a vibrating hockey puck?” Stan asked. Shermie glanced at Stan in confusion.

_Man, he doesn’t understand why I don’t just let myself know things all the time, does he? It’s exhausting, walking around constantly using my clairvoyance. And I’d go crazy if I didn’t filter things out._

“Oh, that cute lil feller right there is a cleanin’ robot,” Fiddleford said cheerfully. He smiled fondly at the robot. “I’m workin’ on gettin’ the patents set up ‘n all, but right now, he’s the only one.”

“Fascinating,” Ford said quietly.

“Aw, thanks, Stanford. Tate ain’t too fond of that robot feller. He keeps sayin’ I’m tryin’ to replace him, since he’s moved out.”

“What does Jenny think?” Ford asked. He glanced at Shermie. “Jenny is Fiddleford’s wife, and Tate is their son.” Shermie nodded slightly.

“She don’t mind the robot too much. In her opinion, it’s a lot nicer ‘n some of my other work.”

“That thing?” Stan said, staring at the robot. “Come on, man. The killer robots you build every now and then are so much better than a robotic maid.” Fiddleford chuckled. 

“You flatter me somethin’ fierce.”

“Nah, I’m just telling the truth.”

“Are Tate and Jenny around?” Ford asked. Fiddleford shook his head.

“Nope. Jenny’s visitin’ Tate at Cali State today. We’ve got the house to ourselves.”

“Perfect. Neither of them know about the Company, do they?”

“No, sir. Tellin’ ‘em is askin’ fer trouble.”

“What do you tell them about Stan and Ford, then?” Shermie asked. Fiddleford frowned at him.

“Pardon?”

“I mean, Stan and Ford grew up in the Company, and your little sister did as well, correct?” Shermie asked. Fiddleford nodded. “How do you explain their disappearances to Jenny and Tate?” Fiddleford sighed as they finally walked into the kitchen.

“It’s a tragedy, but kids go missin’ all the time in this here country,” Fiddleford said. He gestured at the table. “Go ahead ‘n take a seat.” The three brothers sat down. Stan slouched against the wooden rods comprising the back of his chair. “The fam’ly tells folks that what happened was a case of kidnappin’, then escape, then gettin’ found by chance at a gas station.”

“That works out for your sister, but what about Stan and Ford?” Shermie pressed. “Apparently our parents willingly gave them up.”

“Look, sir, polite ‘n decent folk don’t pry too much,” Fiddleford finally snapped. Shermie raised his hands placatingly.

“Okay, I’ll back off,” he said in a calm tone. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Yer cut from a dif’rent cloth ‘n Stanford ‘n Stanley.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Refresh me of yer name?”

“Sherman. But I go by Shermie.”

“All right. Sherman.”

“Fiddlenerd, Ford explained the situation to you, right?” Stan said, deciding to change the subject. Fiddleford nodded.

“Yes. The three of ya want to break into the Company to rescue Sherman’s grandkids.”

“That’s correct,” Ford said. “The kid is…benched, but you said that you have something that mimics her abilities?” Fiddleford perked up.

“Why, yes, I most certainly do! I can go fetch it right now. But ‘fore I do, did any of ya want somethin’ to eat? I’ve got leftovers from lunch yesterday.”

“What’d you make?” Stan asked.

“Cheeseburgers.”

“That sounds great,” Ford said. He looked at Shermie. “Do you want one?”

“No, thank you,” Shermie said politely.

“Come on, man,” Stan said. “Fiddlenerd makes great burgers.”

“I’m not doubting his cooking ability,” Shermie said. “But I keep kosher, so cheeseburgers are out of the question.” Stan and Ford stared silently at him. “…What?”

“Kosher? Are- are you Jewish?” Ford asked. Shermie nodded.

“Since when?” Stan asked. Shermie frowned at him.

“Since I was born. I didn’t convert; our family is Jewish.”

“Wait, really?” Stan said. He leaned back. “I fucked up, then. I don’t know any of the rules.”

“It’s- I’m-” Shermie rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a bit more traditional. Not everyone in our family keeps kosher all the time. Even my own son, Caleb, isn’t as strict as I am. And even without that, it would be rather rude to say you messed up if you didn’t know your heritage. Also, if you don’t want to practice, you don’t-”

“You’re rambling,” Ford said gently. “Shermie, Stan’s pulling your leg.”

“…Oh.” Shermie scowled at Stan, who grinned back cheerfully. Fiddleford cleared his throat.

“Uh, how’s ‘bout I go fetch the device I made,” Fiddleford said, “and if’n any of ya want food, ya know where the fridge is.”

“You got it, Fidds,” Stan said. Fiddleford exited the kitchen. Stan got up and walked over to the fridge. He hummed to himself as he perused the contents.

“Anything that looks good?” Ford asked. 

“Most of it. Fiddlenerd and Jenny know their way around a kitchen. Looks like some cornbread thing, the cheeseburgers, some fruit and stuff.”

“Any apples?” Shermie asked.

“Green ones.”

“I’d like one of those, please.”

“You got it.”

“Grab me some of that cornbread?” Ford said.

“Yup.” Stan emerged from the fridge holding a green apple and a small container of cornbread in his hands, as well as a cheeseburger patty in his mouth. He walked back to the table and handed Ford and Shermie their food. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Ford and Shermie said together. Stan took a seat again. He resolutely ate his cheeseburger patty like a cookie.

“Uh, your table manners could use some work, Stan,” Shermie said. 

“Yeah, so?” Stan grunted. 

Slam! The three brothers whipped their heads around. A cupboard door had slammed open.

“What…” Ford started. A plate floated up from a neatly stacked pile of dishes.

“What the fuck?” Stan muttered. The plate hovered in midair for a moment before zooming to the table and landing in front of Stan.

“Ta-da!” Fiddleford chirped from the entryway. Ford’s jaw dropped.

“Fiddleford, you did that?” Ford asked.

“I most certainly did!” Fiddleford replied, walking over to the table and taking a seat. “Used this here bolo tie to do it.” He held out an open hand. Resting on his palm was a bolo tie with a green stone.

“Remarkable,” Ford breathed. Fiddleford tapped twice on the stone of the bolo tie. The surface popped up, revealing intricate machinery housed within the stone. “How well does this mimic your sister’s abilities?”

“Perfectly,” Fiddleford said proudly. “We actually had ourselves a lil contest while I was finishin’ up this bugger.”

“The kid kicked your ass, I bet,” Stan said.

“Well, of course she did. She’s got a lifetime of expertise. But for a few moments, I gave her a run fer her money. And I’ve been practicing with it, too.”

“Stan, what do you think?” Ford asked. Stan frowned. He looked at Fiddleford holding the bolo tie and reached out for the information.

“Fidds, your device isn’t as good as you think it is.”

“...What?” Fiddleford asked, distraught.

“I’m not trying to insult you. Look, no machine can beat humans, all right? But your thing is gonna be the closest we can get to the kid’s help. Since she can’t actually help us.” Stan nodded at the tie. “If we pull this off, it’s gonna be because of that.”

“…I’ll take it,” Fiddleford said after a moment.

“How did you create this?” Ford asked, interested. 

“Remember how we got access to yer personal files, when we broke y’all out?”

“I thought they self-destructed,” Stan said.

“The details ‘bout yer true identities, yes. But all the data the Company collected on ya didn’t,” Fiddleford said.

“That’s…gross,” Stan said after a moment. Ford nodded silently in agreement. 

“Look, I didn’t want to subject my poor, traumatized lil sister to more invasive experimentation! Usin’ the Company’s data let me make this here bolo tie _without_ hurtin’ my sister,” Fiddleford said.

“It’s still ten kindsa wrong,” Stan said firmly. “Fiddleford, you have _no clue_ what we went through.” Fiddleford wilted. 

“To be fair,” Shermie put in, “if the research had to be used for anything, it should be used for this. The Company collected it, and now that research will be used against it.” Shermie scowled at Fiddleford. “I do feel that the ethical implications of this are dubious and that you should definitely apologize to your sister for using that information without telling her. But we have no choice.”

“And, I guess,” Stan sighed, “the kid would agree that the awful shit she went through should be used to help two innocent kids.” Fiddleford nodded, cowed.

“As soon as those babies are rescued, I’ll beg fer forgiveness.”

“Good,” Ford said shortly. He took a breath. “Let’s move on.”

“We have a device that mimics telekinesis,” Shermie said. “Now we need the blueprints to the facility, as well as its address.”

“The kid’s got both covered,” Stan said.

“How do we get that information?” Shermie asked. “If we drive up to Gravity Falls, will she hand it over?”

“She could do that,” Ford said. “But we want to go to Gravity Falls with a plan already in mind, and for that, we need the blueprints.”

“Okay, is she going to mail the blueprints?”

“No. It’d take too long and be too risky,” Stan said. “Luckily, you’ve got a clairvoyant on your side.”

“I thought you said that the Company uses dampeners to keep information secret from people with…gifts,” Shermie said. 

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to use remote viewing on the Company. I’m gonna use it on the kid.” Stan turned to Fiddleford. “Grab me a pen and paper, will ya?”

“Of course,” Fiddleford said, getting up. He walked over to the kitchen counter and rummaged in a drawer. Shermie sighed quietly.

“I don’t understand anything that’s happening,” Shermie said. “Walk me through it, please.”

“One of the components of Stan’s clairvoyance is what is called ‘remote viewing’,” Ford explained. “Remote viewing is essentially sensing or seeing an object that is outside of the normal range of perception. I’ll be telepathically linking Stan with the kid, who will have the blueprints in front of her. This will enhance Stan’s remote viewing abilities, allowing him to copy down the blueprints.” Fiddleford put a piece of paper and a pencil on the table in front of Stan. Stan nodded at him in thanks.

“Is your involvement necessary?” Shermie asked. “The way you described remote viewing, it seems like Stan could copy down the blueprints on his own.”

“It’d be way more difficult,” Stan interrupted. “Remote viewing something that far away takes a lotta effort. To add onto that, it’ll take a lotta time for me to copy it down correctly, and I have to make sure every detail is perfect, which means that I have to spend even more energy on looking at it closely. All in all, if Ford doesn’t link me up with someone who’s already looking at the thing, I won’t get it done right. Telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyance, it all takes energy and effort, Sherm.”

“I…suppose that I didn’t think it would,” Shermie said after a moment. “Since it’s not something physical.”

“Yeah, but neither is doing math, and that takes effort,” Stan pointed out. Shermie nodded.

“Fair point.”

“All right, Ford, hook me up,” Stan said. He picked up the pencil, put it on the paper, and closed his eyes.

“Should I stay quiet during this?” Shermie asked.

“Yes,” Ford and Stan said together.

“Right. Sorry.”

_I’m linking you to the kid’s mind…now,_ Ford said. The sensations Stan was currently feeling, the wooden chair, the smell of a candle burning somewhere, the pencil held loosely in his hand, were overlapped by others. He could feel a thick comforter wrapped over his body, an aching back and feet, and the smell of conifers, probably from an open window, judging by the slight breeze across his face. _You’re linked up. Whenever you want, you can start the remote viewing. Just shout when you’re done, and I’ll unlink you._

_Thanks, Ford._ Stan opened his eyes. Faintly, almost ghostly, he could see Shermie sitting across from him at the table, staring at him with concern. But stronger was the image of the kid’s bedroom: furniture clearly carved by hand, flannel patterned fabrics on multiple surfaces, and a bed that dwarfed the kid’s small stature. He turned his head, and the kid turned her head as well. To the left, there was an open window allowing the scent and sound of the woods to enter the room. _I thought there was a window open!_

_Like I wouldn’t have a window open,_ the kid said snippily. _You know full well I always need an escape route available._

_Hey, I’m the same way._ Stan tried to stifle his excitement at interacting with her again. _It’s been a while, kiddo._

_Too long._ The kid adjusted herself slightly in her bed. _No need to worry about being interrupted. I told Dan and Wendy to go to the grocery store and pick up some eggs. They’ll be there for hours._

_Hours?_ Stan asked. The kid sighed.

_I love my husband, but he is not the most physically gentle person. The store let us buy “egg insurance”, on count of how many cartons he breaks by accident while shopping. We really needed that insurance; we would’ve gone bankrupt without it._

_Dan’s a strange guy._

_I’m a strange gal._

_Yeah, but not in the same way that he’s strange._

_Stan…_ the kid said in warning. Stan could feel her tensing up.

_I’ll back off. Dan’s a good guy, and good for you._ The kid relaxed. _So, how are you doing?_

_Well, I’m constantly aching somewhere, I really want a drink but can’t have one, and I’m stuck in this bed for the next month._ The kid idly stroked her large baby bump. _This son of mine better be real cute, with all he’s putting me through._

_Oh, he will._

_You know that for a fact?_

_Even without clairvoyance, I know, kid. Any child of yours is gonna be cute._

_Aw, you’re so sweet to me. Like a protective older brother._

_I_ am _your protective older brother,_ Stan said firmly. The kid chuckled. _We should probably get started. Ford won’t wanna keep the link up for too long._

_Yup._ The kid looked at a bedside table to her right. She grabbed a book off it and opened it to a page about two-thirds of the way through. _Here. I put it there for safekeeping. Dan and Wendy don’t touch my books. They know better._ She pulled out the paper tucked between the pages and unfolded it.

_How’d you get a hold of this?_ Stan asked, impressed. The kid leaned back. Stan could feel a mound of pillows piled behind her. 

_It’s best not to ask that. Go ahead and get started ‘fore we all get too tired._

 

_You’re unlinked._ Stan opened his eyes and blinked several times. 

“That was weird,” Shermie said quietly. Stan stretched languidly.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, unequivocally, _yes_. Your eyes turned _blue_.”

“Really? That’s the eye color the kid has. Huh, I wonder if her eyes turned brown.” Stan grinned. “It was nice talking to her again.”

“How is she?” Ford asked.

“Pretty miserable. But Dan’s taking good care of her, and she says that her due date’s coming up soon, so she’s almost done.”

“It’ll be nice to see her again,” Fiddleford remarked. “I’ve been meanin’ to take a trip up there fer a while now.” He peered over Stan’s shoulder at the paper on the table. “That’s a mighty fine job there, Stanley.”

“Think we could use these to draw up a plan?” Stan asked, sliding his copy of the blueprints over to Ford.

“Oh, definitely,” Ford said with a nod. “Fiddleford was correct. These are very well done.”

“It’s a miracle they turned out so well, since Wendy and Dan came home earlier than the kid expected. I couldn’t concentrate with all the noise. Dan’s as loud as a foghorn. The kid finally told them to go outside, saying she needed to take a nap.”

“Dan’s home, then?” Ford asked. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Yeah, he’s home. And louder than all hell.”

“Excellent,” Ford said, ignoring Stan’s first sentence. “We can call and debrief him once we come up with a plan.”

“Can’t you just…talk to him without a phone?” Shermie prodded.

“Oh, God, no,” Ford said. Shermie frowned, bemused. “Well, I could,” Ford corrected himself. “But Dan _hates_ telepathic communication. I tried to communicate with him telepathically once, and he broke three walls.”

“At once?” Shermie asked.

“Yes.”

“…How?”

“It’ll make sense when you meet him,” Stan said. “And yeah, Dan does not like ESP at all. The kid doesn’t use her powers around him, not just ‘cause she wants to stay off the Company’s radar, but also ‘cause it freaks Dan out. He thinks ghosts are real, so floating stuff makes him run for the holy water and salt.”

“I think Dan might change his mind about ESP,” Ford said. 

“What makes ya say that?” Fiddleford asked.

“I’m fairly certain that Wendy has ESP abilities.”

“What? Nah,” Stan said. “She’s already three. She’d have used them by now. And anyways-” Stan broke off his sentence, feeling a familiar nudge. 

“Anyways what?” Ford asked. Stan sighed.

“You’re right. Wendy’s got ESP abilities. Shit. Dan’s gonna be pissed.”

“Really? His daughter doesn’t change his mind?”

“No.” Stan rubbed his forehead. “And…damn, he’s- he’s gonna get terrified for Wendy’s safety when…I can’t tell. In ten years, maybe?”

“That can’t be good,” Fiddleford said. “A sudden uptick in worry over his daughter?”

“It’s not good,” Stan confirmed. He grimaced. “But it’s too far away for me to tell what it is.”

“Does it have to do with my lil sister?” Fiddleford pried. Stan shook his head. 

“I told you, I can’t-” There was a flash of white light.

 

_“Uncle Stan, what are these?” Stan blinked rapidly. He was in an unfamiliar room, filled with knickknacks and tchotchkes._

Is this a gift shop?

_“These are the blueprints for the Company.” Stan whipped his head around. A small group of people were huddled around a counter. Stan approached cautiously. He recognized himself, old and gray._

Yeesh. My hair really thins out. _In addition to himself, there were four people. A young man wearing a green T-shirt with a question mark, a boy and girl that looked about ten or twelve, and a teenager with long red hair. His heart leapt into his mouth, recognizing the teenager immediately._ Wendy!

_“How did you get the blueprints, Grunkle Stan?” the boy asked. Stan frowned._

Who the hell is that?

_“Wendy’s mom. A long time ago. Actually…around when you were born.”_

Shit! These are Shermie’s grandkids.

_“I don’t know if they changed the building since 1999,” the older Stan continued, “but this is all we’ve got. If we wanna mount the last rescue mission and finally,_ finally, _put an end to the Company.”_

 

Stan gasped, coming out of the vision like someone revived from drowning.

“Stan? You all right?” Shermie asked. Stan nodded.

“Yeah. I’m- I’m fine.”

“What did you see?” Ford asked quietly.

“Wait, that was a vision?” Shermie said. Ford and Stan nodded. “It- it looked like you were having some sort of episode.”

“That’s what a vision is,” Stan said. He cleared his throat. “And…I’m not sure what I saw. I was there, Wendy was there, Shermie, your grandkids were there.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Shermie whispered, collapsing back into his chair.

“Where was I?” Ford asked. “Or Fiddleford? Or the kid?”

“I- I don’t know. I don’t even know where this vision took place. Some sorta gift shop?” Stan said. He swallowed nervously. “It happened at least ten years in the future. I was showing Wendy and Shermie’s grandkids and some random guy these blueprints.” He nodded at the paper on the table. “And I said something about a last rescue mission.”

“You said that Dan gets nervous about Wendy’s safety in ten years, and you had a vision that took place around that time?” Fiddleford said quietly. His face was deathly white. “That don’t bode well.” A heavy weight settled in Stan’s stomach.

“No,” Stan said. “No. It doesn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it's been such a long time since I last updated. If any of you follow me on tumblr, you know that I've had a lot on my plate lately, and went through a lot of personal stuff recently. With all of my responsibilities as a grad student and all my ~personal drama~, working on my multichaps unfortunately took a backseat.  
> But...I've got a nice long chapter (4k) for you. Hopefully that makes you folks feel a bit better.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


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